I first read Lord of the Flies, by British author William Golding, in the late 1980s and quickly became obsessed. Having just graduated from high school, I knew the joys and ugliness of teenage tribalism well. A film adaptation starring Balthazar Getty was released soon after, and since I managed a video rental store, I watched it and the 1963 version multiple times, increasing my admiration for the book. (FYI, the ‘63 film is far superior if you need to choose one.)

Flies may have been Golding’s debut novel, but its themes were something he understood very well. During World War II, he served in the Royal Navy and took part in the bloody D-Day landings in Normandy. The reality of war deeply influenced his writing, and when he started working on Flies, he, like the rest of humanity, was living under the specter of nuclear annihilation at the dawn of the Cold War. The book’s brilliance lies in distilling these existential threats into a deceptively simple survival story on a South Pacific island.  

The story begins with a wartime evacuation during what we assume is some kind of nuclear exchange. A plane crashes on a deserted island and a group of British preadolescent schoolboys are the only survivors. Ralph, by virtue of age and physicality, becomes the leader. He befriends Piggy and uses his glasses to start a signal fire. Ralph’s leadership seems very wise for his age as he encourages the group to stay positive, gather resources, and maintain the fire for rescue.

However, the boys’ resolve fades as they grow distracted. Fear of a fearsome jungle "beast" takes hold, and a rival boy named Jack gains influence by promising to hunt the monsters down. During one hunt, the signal fire dies out, and a rescue ship passes by without stopping.

The boys’ tribalism worsens when a fighter pilot’s corpse lands by parachute onto the island and is mistaken for the “beast.” Jack creates his own tribe, offers a pig's head to the monster, and comes to represent authoritarianism and primal power, while Ralph symbolizes intellect and empathy. Although Ralph is initially baffled and repulsed by how easily the boys follow Jack’s fear-mongering, even he is not immune to mob rule. But his reluctance and regret for his own violent actions appear weak to Jack's tribe, who, now frenzied, hunt Ralph with tragic consequences. 

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True epics encompass large themes and heroic characters who deal with world-changing events, and in the world of young adult fiction there aren't many of these. Okay, J.K. Rowling wrote one, but like her tale of a boy wizard most YA epics are fantasy books or paranormal romances which masquerade as something much grander.

But when I came across Code Name Verity I knew I'd found that rarest of offerings for the teen reader – a true epic novel. I'd even say that author Elizabeth Wein's tale of friendship between two young British women caught up in the midst of World War II holds up quite nicely to similar adult novels, the type which might've been penned by James A. Michener, Colleen McCullough, Ken Follett or Leon Uris.

The story's told by two protagonists. The first is a confession from "Verity" (her codename), who's been caught spying for the British in German-occupied France in 1943 and is being interrogated and tortured by the Gestapo. Verity's admission is a way to buy time, even if only in small parcels, and she knows. As a spy, she has no privileges afforded to other prisoners of war under the Geneva Convention. Her life is forfeit, but as long as she can tell her tale and let the Germans believe she has information they need, she'll continue to survive. Her narrative becomes a loving dissertation about her best friend, a country girl named Maddie (code named Kittyhawk) whose serving the Allied cause as a civilian pilot. The second half of the book is told from Maddie's point-of-view and deals mostly with her trying to discover Verity's fate and then rescue her from the clutches of the SS.

As both women acknowledge, had there not been a war on, they would've never met nor become friends. Verity was born to Scottish aristocracy, was raised in a castle and educated abroad. A stint at a German boarding school has made her prolific in the language and she's recruited into the world of high-stakes espionage for which she has an unusual affinity. Not only can she affect different accents, but can manifest both personalities and lives from thin air. Maddie. on the other hand, was raised by her grandparents and grew up working with her hands. In a world which belongs to men, Maddie's a talented mechanic and a skilled pilot. Both women have benefitted from the reality of war which has broken down sexual stereotypes and allowed them to excel in areas usually reserved for males. Both are aware of this, and they wonder if their independence and freedom will continue once the conflict is over?

While reading Code Name Verity, I wondered how younger readers might handle the complicated plot, themes centered around equality and independence, and the much larger historical references. Would they appreciate the awesome amount of research which Wein clearly put into this novel? Even teens with an interest in World War II probably won't have any familiarity with most of the topics addressed, and certainly not some of the literary and cultural references. But if books can provide teachable moments — and good books always will — then this really isn't an issue. The roles of women in noncombat roles working on the English homefront and behind the scenes is a fascinating peek into a part of World War II which receives little attention but is quite inspiring. And while I'd recommend the book to almost anyone, it will resonate more with young women as it wonderfully details the unique intimacy between female friends.

Verity and Kittyhawk are effusive in their love for each other, distraught over their frequent separations, and determined to protect each other during the time in human history when probably no one felt truly safe. Their story truly is, well, epic.

RELATED: Historical

The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee is a historical novel which appeals on many levels. At times, it is a throwback to the sentimental romantic literature of the 18th century (during which it is set), a peep show into the seamier side of the British aristocracy, an institution well practiced at hiding scandal, corruption and basic human compulsions behind wealth, power and rigid class structure. (If you’ve read anything by Jane Austen you will have some sense of how this highly stratified society works.) At times, it has elements of a modern romantic comedy, with three young protagonists trying to navigate family drama while finding their places in society. Finally, it is an awkward coming-out tale for its aristocratic narrator, Henry “Monty” Montague — although the concept of “coming out” would have been unimaginable during his era.

Monty is the eldest son of a rich British nobleman and heir apparent to the old man’s vast wealth, lofty reputation and stifling social duties. By Monty’s own admission, he’s a constant disappointment to his unloving and highly traditional father. As the story opens, Monty is about to depart on an expected rite of passage for a young gentleman living in Georgian era England: a grand tour of the European continent. This traveling holiday will serve as his indoctrination into high culture and politics before returning to his family’s estate to assume his inherited duties. While Monty’s future promises splendid wealth and privilege, it is very much a gilded cage. Every aspect of his manhood will be dictated for him — and he knows it. The only problem is that Monty’s as anti establishment as a person could be, starting with the fact that he’s an unapologetic “buggerer,” a contemporary term meaning he likes boys as well as girls. Despite homosexuality being outlawed in England during this era, Monty doesn’t seem to mind who knows about his preferences, perhaps feeling immune to any legal consequences thanks to his title and position. For his father however, it is a source of recurring humiliation.

In order to keep Monty’s wild side under control, his father decides he will be accompanied to Europe by a strict chaperone named Mr. Lockwood; his younger sister Felicity, whom he barely tolerates; and his best friend Percy, with whom he’s secretly in love but who’s mixed-race heritage has made him a social pariah. While Mr. Lockwood intends to keep the young lord away from drink, gambling and debauchery, Henry manages to steal away from a banquet held at the French palace of Versailles with a royal courtesan. Their sexual encounter is interrupted by the woman’s lover — the former French prime minister — with whom Monty had a previous unpleasant encounter. To spite the man, Monty steals a small box from his desk, the contents of which inadvertently launches he, Percy and Felicity on a cross-continent treasure hunt with French assassins close on their heels. 

While The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue perhaps relies too much on Murphy’s Law — whatever can go wrong, will go wrong — it is an enjoyable and often moving romp. Monty is a hedonistic rogue, but also a fascinating narrator who reveals himself to be unexpectedly kind, passionate and damaged. His begrudging love for his traveling companions — he’s a man who outwardly eschews just sentimentality — is also his redemption. In the end, all three main characters buck the norms of their society: Monty due to his sexuality; Felicity due to her gender; and Percy due to his racial background. The ending of the book, while probably unlikely for real people of the 18th century, will certainly appeal to the more egalitarian audiences of the 21st century and is thus quite satisfying.

Mackenzi Lee’s The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy is the lively sequel to her best selling young adult novel, The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue. The story is told from the perspective of Penelope Montague, the intellectual daughter of an abusive English Lord and sister to Henry “Monty” Montague, an aristocratic drunkard, fop and buggerer (to use the 18th century terms). Penelope and her party-boy brother couldn’t be any different if they tried, and the first book did an excellent job of showing both of their strengths and weaknesses as they became reluctant allies on a cross-continent adventure. Although Penelope played a supporting role in The Gentleman’s Guide, The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy is entirely her story.

When last we saw Penelope, Monty, and Monty’s lover, Percy, they were sailing with pirates in the Greek Isles, runways from their privileged but stifling places in English society. The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy picks up several years later. Penelope’s working for a kindly Scottish baker and has ambitions to become a physician at a time when being a midwife was the closest a woman could come to a medical career. After suffering numerous rejections from universities, a sympathetic physician encourages Penelope to reach out to Alexander Platt, a brilliant but unconventional doctor. This is a thrilling prospect for Penelope who has followed Platt’s career for years. In an unbelievable coincidence, Platt also happens to be engaged to Penelope’s former best friend, Johanna Hoffman. Penelope leaves for Austria in the company of a female pirate / bodyguard called Sim, who wants access to the Hoffman estate for reasons unknown. 

The rivalry between Penelope and Johanna is one of the best things about this book. As girls, they used the Montague’s sprawling estate as a backdrop for games about world exploration, becoming famous scientists and raiding lost temples. Then they grew up. Penelope remained serious and nebbish while Johanna became a “proper lady,” complete with frilly dresses, elaborate hairdos and an utter dependence on men. Although Penelope and Johanna manage to forgive each other for past transgressions, they still disapprove of each other’s life choices. Penelope considers Johanna silly and pretentious, and Johanna finds Penelope elitist and mean-spirited. 

Penelope‘s introduction to Dr. Platt is also a wake up call. The rogue physician is not only a drug addict, but not nearly as open minded as Penelope fantasized. Not only is he using Johanna for her wealth and social position, but to gain access to the scientific journals of her late mother, a woman who successfully bucked convention and became that world explorer Penelope and Johanna once fantasized about. Sim also has an interest in the journals, but it’s not until Johanna disappears just before her wedding that the importance of these writings becomes clear.

In many ways, The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy is superior to its predecessor with a more lively pace and a roster of interesting characters. McKenzi Lee does it skillful job making this Penelope‘s book, using Monty and Percy sparingly, and authentically depicting the roles and frustrations of European women of the Georgian Era. The hardest thing for Penelope to accept is just how stacked the system is against women — even women of privilege. Denied the freedom of education, movement, economics, and even marriage, the only thing Penelope has under her control is her intellect. And she uses it as often and as effectively as she can. 

Lee reminds the reader that women come in different forms and that they can be just as sexist towards each other as men. Whether it’s Penelope the bookish intellectual; Johanna the disgraced heiress; or Sim the roughhewn daughter of a pirate king; they all have skills and values they come to appreciate in each other... but not right away. On the downside, The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy suffers from too much coincidental happenstance, such as the aforementioned engagement between Johanna and Dr. Platt. (This was a problem with The Gentleman's Guide, too.) The ending also relies on a deus ex machina plot device which is never a satisfactory way to end any book. Regardless, there’s a lot to like here. Add this one to your reading list.

RELATED: Review of The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue | Historical Young Adult Collection